


Intoxicated

by JackOfNone



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Feral Behavior, M/M, Mindbreak, Non-Consensual Groping, Torture, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22490200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/pseuds/JackOfNone
Summary: Steak's infiltration and rescue isn't as straightforward as planned.
Relationships: Bloody Mary/Red Wine/Steak (Food Fantasy), Red Wine/Steak (Food Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Intoxicated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mieldyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mieldyne/gifts).



"No use fighting now. You're only going to exhaust yourself." 

Too angry to form a coherent reply, Steak spat blood onto the slick black stone, wrenching around in the grip of Bloody Mary's entanglement. Like vines of black shadow studded with barbs, they moved like a living thing at the vampire's command, constricting tighter the harder Steak struggled; while his armor protected him for the most part, the thorns were starting to seek out gaps in it. One tendril had already slid around his waist, finding the edge of his shirt and dragging it upwards to expose a stripe of bare flesh, leaving a white-hot line of dripping crimson across the flat plane of his stomach that stung with every breath. Maybe the thorns were poisoned -- a little scratch like that shouldn't hurt this badly. 

Lit up by a few tallow candles set into a wrought-iron candelabra, Steak could see Bloody Mary's cold, cruel smile, and the figure crouched at his feet. Bloody Mary lounged languidly resting his bare feet on the figure's back, as though the person was little more than a piece of furniture or perhaps a particularly docile dog; his face was partially hidden by a grimy bandage tied firmly across his eyes, but Steak would know those long, graceful fingers even scabbed and dirty as they were, and the elegant clothes that hung in filthy tatters from his back. The locks of purple hair stuck to his neck with sweat and grime, the long delicate ears, and the bruised and cracked lips that hung slightly open, revealing a vivid red tongue and a flash of sharp white teeth.

The very Soul he'd come to retrieve -- Red Wine, or what was left of him. Steak stilled himself for a moment, suddenly conscious of the smell of blood hanging heavy inside the chamber. _Bloody Mary is a monster. A beast without a heart_ , Steak had been warned, as though he wasn't already aware. _If he hasn't killed Red Wine yet, it's only because he's got something worse in mind_. And here, seeing the battered, broken thing crawling on the floor at his feet like an animal -- a thing that, when Steak had last seen him, had been a soul of alluring beauty and infuriating arrogance, cultured and civilized and fastidious to a fault, a paragon of lofty dignity that made Steak want to break his smug nose and do something _else_ with him in about equal measure...seeing that, he felt he finally, truly understood. 

Bloody Mary casually ground the point of his heel into the small of Red Wine's back, eliciting a low whine of discomfort. Red Wine raised his head, and though the cloth blinded him he sniffed the air like an animal seeking its prey in the dark. 

"What did you do to him?" Steak growled. It was hardly even a question -- more an expression of disgust and shock. His lips curled into a sneer. 

"I only gave him," Bloody Mary said, with that same serpentine smile, "exactly what he wanted." He dug his heel deeper in, forcing Red Wine's back into a painful arch, before tipping the wine glass in his hand to spill some of the crimson liquid onto the ground in front of his captive. Of course, it wasn't wine. Bloody Mary didn't bother with such plebeian drinks. 

The thick, coppery smell became overwhelming as the blood spattered on the stones in front of Red Wine. He dived for the tiny puddle, lapping it from the floor as though he was dying of thirst. 

"He was surprisingly reluctant at first, given the sort of monster that he is." Bloody Mary aimed a swift kick at Red Wine's ribs, which he ignored in favor of the treat in front of him. Steak growled deep in his throat, hearing Bloody Mary speak that way about his captive. "So much so that I had to do a little persuading." Red Wine was bruised and starved, and there was old blood staining his clothes and skin. Not all of it seemed to be his, and Steak wasn't sure what part of that sickened him the most. "He came around, though. Quite an improvement, don't you think?" 

"Go to hell," Steak spat, voice rising to an angry pitch. The force of his anger surprised even him, but seeing Red Wine, his rival, his comrade, HIS Red Wine reduced to this, hearing Bloody Mary gleefully allude to what must have been days of torture like he was recounting his holiday travels, filled him with a white-hot rage and a need to put at least a foot of broadsword through that grinning demon's face. "He'd never--" 

"Oh, he would, and he did. What, did he never let you see that side of him? Jealous?" Bloody Mary leaned forward on his chaise lounge. "Steak, my dear, you were always going to have to accept the kind of company you were keeping sooner or later." Red Wine, having licked up the last dregs of his gruesome treat, began to paw at Bloody Mary's leg, as though begging for another morsel. "Now, I think you have a choice ahead of you. You could continue to be an obstinate bore," Bloody Mary said, reaching down to stroke Red Wine's hair and trace the line of his ear with his fingertips in casually familiar manner that made Steak want to scream, "and keep trying to kill us. Or..." and here the Soul looked up at Steak through his long lashes, flushed lips parted ever so slightly, "...you could take your place here, with us. I promise you'll enjoy it. Such a waste," he added, wetting his lips, "to let such a beautiful meal go un-eaten, after all." 

Red Wine writhed and groaned under Bloody Mary's touch, a creature of pure animal sensation. His blindfolded face, blood smeared around his mouth, was absent his usual, very slight haughty sneer. He looked vacant without it. Steak was glad, suddenly, that he couldn't see Red Wine's eyes. 

Bloody Mary's proposal, however -- his debased demonstration of his power over Red Wine in his reduced state -- had given Steak a moment to catch his breath. Unlike Red Wine, he was no prissy coward -- a protector, not the one who needed protecting. 

The muscles in his shoulders tensed up as he tested the strength of Bloody Mary's bonds. Strong they might have been, but Steak estimated he could break them with enough effort. The question would be if he'd still have enough strength left after that to make him pay. 

\----

_Some time earlier._

Red Wine couldn't keep his legs under him anymore -- his bonds were the only thing holding him upright. Every inch of his body was shaking with exhaustion, and even simply breathing was agony. Bloody Mary had finally tired of the whip, and stood examining his handiwork; Red Wine's pale back was mess of welts now, blood oozing from anywhere the vivid blue-red stripes crossed and the skin beneath them burst. As a Food Soul, Red Wine could survive much more than an ordinary mortal, but Bloody Mary had still selected a thin cane from his collection of torture implements for him -- the impact of it was painful but bearable, but it was not exactly merciful. Instead, it simply allowed Bloody Mary to take his time torturing him, layering welt upon welt until the skin cracked and split beneath the switch and Red Wine's back was a lattice of agony and his will was nearing exhaustion. 

Bloody Mary raised his hand and struck Red Wine one more time, across the shoulder blades. The strike drew blood from sensitive, battered flesh, leaving a leaking bright red stripe across the top of Red Wine's back, a wound that every breath would agitate. Red Wine groaned, too exhausted to do much more than that. It felt like it had been hours since Bloody Mary had started with him. Days, perhaps. Down in the darkness of Bloody Mary's chambers, lit only by tallow candles and never seeing the sun, time had little meaning. 

The room that had become Red Wine's entire world was, quite clearly, Bloody Mary's bedchamber. An enormous mahogany four-poster bed dominated the room, outfitted with luxurious sheets in a deep scarlet that conveniently hid any errant stains from his escapades. Bloody Mary had bound his wrists, one to each post, with rope that dug into his skin; stripped of his coat and shirt, he was pinned and stretched like a waiting canvas, slumped forward slightly over Bloody Mary's bed. The soft embrace of the coverlet beneath his chest was little comfort. Being bent over the vampire's bed like this, as though his prolonged suffering was nothing more than a bit of rough play, was more humiliating than the pain, lush opulence and comfort contrasted with cruelty. 

Bloody Mary was behind him, admiring his handiwork no doubt, and inevitably there were cold hands sliding down his naked sides and shoulders, gentle touches to soothe the burning along the edges of his wounds. Red Wine shivered at the touch, so gentle, so different from what had immediately preceded it. It was, in its way, a comfort just as cruel as the pain. Red Wine kept everyone at a distance -- it wasn't worth the risk if he lost his nerve -- so Bloody Mary's touch was the first he'd felt in recent memory, and God, even the freezing cold of Bloody Mary's flesh was soothing. Without anything to remind him, Red Wine had forgotten how good it felt to be touched. 

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to think of something else. His Master Attendant, clapping him on the shoulder with a friendly hand. Steak's arm around his waist after a difficult battle, supporting him as they retreated triumphant from the scene. 

Bloody Mary's deft fingers dipped lower, sliding along the ridges of Red Wine's ribs before toying with the waist of his trousers. He was close up behind Red Wine now, hip pressed to hip, the chill of his bare chest seeping into his raw burning back; his soft hand, the whip discarded, gently massaged the curve of Red Wine's hip before sliding all the way inside what remained of his clothing, reaching down to stroke Red Wine's cock. What felt like hours of agony had heightened Red Wine's senses to a fever pitch; he felt himself grow hard almost immediately under Bloody Mary's touch, his entire body achingly sensitive to anything that wasn't simply more pain. He hissed through his teeth as he felt himself start to strain against the fabric of his trousers. 

This, it seemed, was Bloody Mary's mode of operation -- pain, then unwanted pleasure. He seemed to take a sadistic joy in inflicting both, savoring the unique suffering each mode of torture seemed to inflict upon his captive. And every time he laid aside the whip or the knife and began to gently soothe his wounds, to caress him like a lover might...every time, Red Wine could feel his will cracking slightly more, his resistance wearing away inch by inch. Rational thought gave way to sensation, and he found himself against his will wishing Bloody Mary would keep going. He had begun to <i>anticipate</i> his touch, to look forward to it, first as a respite from torture and then as a shallow, animal instinct that sought pleasure above all else. 

If he was to feel only what Bloody Mary allowed him to, Red Wine found himself thinking to his horror, why should he not choose pleasure over pain? 

Acting almost unconsciously, Red Wine arced his hips up into Bloody Mary's hand, a tight groan escaping his lips. Bloody Mary chuckled in his ear, so close he could feel the other Soul's breath hot along the length of his ear, stirring his sweat-sticky hair. "That's a good boy," he cooed, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the hyper-sensitive tip of Red Wine's cock before shoving his trousers down to mid thigh, freeing his full aching length. He gripped harder, stroked faster, and Red Wine felt his head spinning; he screwed his eyes shut and desperately scrambled for something else to focus on -- some memory he could dredge up to banish the face of Bloody Mary as his body responded unwillingly to his touch. 

Red Wine recalled his heart pounding as he fought Steak to yet another stalemate, and then -- a dip, a feint, a twist just so, and Red Wine's rapier was wrenched from his grip and spun wildly in the air until it landed point down in the dirt, the hilt quivering. The smirk as he tilted Red Wine's chin upwards just slightly with the flat of his broadsword, savoring his first sparring victory. Steak's powerful arm around his waist as they retreated, the both of them exhausted and wounded and leaning on each other for support. 

The smell of Steak's blood pumping in his veins, throbbing in his pulse, more intoxicating than any drink or drug.

He wasn't made of stone. How could he be expected to hold out forever? 

Bloody Mary's other hand, the one that was not occupied with driving him towards climax, slipped up to cup the side of his face and tease the surface of his dry, parched lips. Bloody Mary's fingers were dripping with blood -- either his own, or someone else's. Red Wine couldn't tell. 

He wasn't a monster. A monster would have super-human will, and could resist indefinitely. 

If Red Wine opened his mouth to lap greedily at the blood on Bloody Mary's fingers, what human or Soul could blame him for it? 

\----

With one wrench of his powerful shoulder that left his flesh shredded by black thorns, Steak tore his sword-arm free from Bloody Mary's bonds. With his sword able to move again, he made short work of the rest of the tendrils and with a snarl of rage he launched himself across the blood-slick stones straight towards the other Soul, fully intent on putting a solid foot of broadsword directly through his skull. 

Bloody Mary was not caught utterly flat-footed; he leaped up from the red velvet chaise lounge and raised a column of solid shadow with one smooth gesture between him and his assailant. Steak's swing left the sword buried halfway into the darkness, where it stuck as though thrust into mud. 

"You do realize," Bloody Mary said smoothly, as Steak struggled to free his weapon from his spell, "that your blood fairly sings in your veins, don't you?" Immediately to Steak's right, the abject figure of Red Wine scrabbled to his feet, turning his head this way and that as though trying to pick out a single voice in a room full of people, or discern a single scene out of a busy kitchen. Still blinded by the black bandage tied around his eyes, he sniffed the air like an animal. Bloody Mary's eyes slid over to regard his captive with a small smile. " _He_ won't hold himself back from taking what he wants any longer. Do you intend to kill us both?" 

"You first." Steak finally wrenched his sword free, though his shoulder screamed in protest. Blood ran in red rivulets down his arm, and his breath came in heavy pants. Behind him, Red Wine staggered, made a feral growl of hunger with sharp teeth bared, and Bloody Mary's smile twisted and grew cruel and triumphant. 

With a snarl, Red Wine launched himself bodily forward -- past Steak, towards Bloody Mary, fingers outstretched to grasp for his throat. 

This time, Bloody Mary was taken utterly off guard. He managed to stagger out of the way, but even sick and broken Red Wine was as agile as a cat; he nimbly sidestepped the thorny shadow-vines that burst up from the floor at Bloody Mary's command, leaving them to flail uselessly about, grasping at empty air. 

It was the work of a moment for Red Wine to change direction and collide with Bloody Mary, knocking him to the stone floor with a skull-rattling thud. In a heartbeat, faster than any human and even most Souls could ever home to move, Red Wine was on top of him, nails raking red furrows into Bloody Mary's throat as his fingers sought something vital to twist and snap. Bloody Mary tried to choke out some command, but his words were throttled into a desperate wheeze. He barely managed to force Red Wine's head up, to prevent him from sinking his fangs into his shoulder. 

Cruel as he was, Bloody Mary had only survived so long by knowing when he had miscalculated, and he hated when the odds were not stacked against him. Bringing his knee up into Red Wine's stomach -- a blow that only barely fazed the feral Soul -- he wheezed out a blasphemous word and his body dissolved into so much scented smoke, leaving Red Wine crouched alone, fingers scrabbling at nothing. 

Deprived of a target to focus on, Steak's stamina faltered; his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground, leaning heavily on his sword. 

Red Wine's head whipped around once he realized his opponent had vanished, his tongue wetting his lips as though he was tasting the air. The threat to his preferred meal was now gone, and the delectable smell of blood -- so much blood, Steak hadn't realized how much he was bleeding until he found himself growing dizzy -- drew him inexorably forward. Steak couldn't muster the strength to move as Red Wine crawled towards him on all fours, lips parted lustfully, bare knees scraped raw as he carelessly dragged himself over the rough stone floor. 

"Red," Steak said, though the Soul crawling towards him like an animal barely seemed like the same person, "Red, it's me -- we had a promise, right? Where's that haughty bastard I can't stand, huh?" His voice cracked and frayed with exhaustion. "Dunno what he did to you but--" He couldn't continue. His breath ran out. His throat felt too tight to speak clearly. 

Red Wine cocked his head towards the sound of Steak's voice, but he did not slow his advance. His hands locked around Steak's upper arms like an iron vise -- he'd always thought Red Wine was something of a weakling, too fragile for real hand to hand combat, but his grip here was bone-crushingly powerful. Had he been holding back that too? 

Still, Steak couldn't quite bring himself to force Red Wine away. Especially in his current state, he looked as though he might snap from a single touch. Or maybe he was just making excuses for himself, too wounded and exhausted to even struggle against a half-starved wretch. 

With a low, wordless noise of pleasure, Red Wine laved his tongue around the edge of Steak's lacerated shoulder. He screwed his eyes shut to avoid the sight, but he could still feel Red Wine's mouth on the sensitive flesh, more obscene than anything merely sexual could possibly be, and the fierce sting as his tongue sought more blood too close to the fresh wound. 

Carefully, Steak reached up behind Red Wine's head to undo the knot that bound the scrap of black cloth around his eyes. It came away easily, and at first Red Wine seemed to almost not notice that he was no longer blinded. His eyes were half-lidded with ecstasy, the same bloody crimson that Steak remembered but with a glassy, unfocused quality that made Steak's lip curl in disgust. 

"Better get your fill," Steak murmured, close to Red Wine's ear. He didn't understand how creatures like Bloody Mary worked -- how Red Wine worked, for that matter -- but he knew Red Wine had wanted this, and maybe it would help to...undo whatever Bloody Mary had done, at least a little. 

Red Wine was surprisingly gentle as he feasted. He didn't speak, other than to make small crooning sounds deep in his throat as he was overcome with pleasure, but he kept his fangs out of Steak's flesh and made no effort to widen any of his wounds. Perhaps there was enough blood to sate him already shed, or perhaps he was simply unwilling to hurt the source of his precious meal. He'd attacked Bloody Mary over him, after all -- clearly he wanted Steak all to himself. Perhaps forever. Almost without conscious thought, Red Wine ground his hips against Steak's thigh. 

Carefully, as though dealing with a wild animal, Steak put his hand on the back of Red Wine's head, soothing down his tangled, matted hair. This finally pulled the Soul's attention away from Steak's blood; he looked up, his mouth smeared with red, and his eyes focused finally upon Steak's face. 

"...mine," Red Wine growled. It was the first human word Steak had heard him say, and he was so glad to hear it that Red Wine leaning up to press their lips together hungrily, one dirty and cracked hand on each side of Steak's face, caught him utterly off-guard. 

Red Wine's mouth was hot and tasted like blood -- his own blood, coppery and not at all as alluring to himself as Souls like Bloody Mary and Red Wine found it. He let Red Wine kiss him, because he hated to admit it, but he'd thought about it often enough. If only it'd happened under better circumstances, he thought. Red Wine would never forgive him for letting him lose his mind and break his vow like this -- even to save his life. 

The Holy See investigators would arrive soon. He and Red Wine just had to stay put until that time. 

Red Wine broke away from the kiss, panting, and moved to Steak's throat where the blood from his wound had spattered to lick it up with long, wet strokes. 

_I've already lost the blood,_ Steak thought. _I mean, he might as well have it, right? Maybe it'll bring him round._ And there was something satisfying about the way Red Wine drank from him so greedily, all pretense stripped away, that he guiltily buried. 

Red Wine was going to hate him for letting him do this, once he was back to himself.

At least, Steak thought as he shuddered under his touch and stroked his hair soothingly, he prayed he would. 


End file.
